Advice
by Tendo Rei
Summary: Jungle Book . Shere Khan left the boy in Kaa's clutches that fateful day. Why did he do it? Read and perhaps you'll find out.


_Disclaimer: Jungle Book belongs to Disney and Rudyard Kipling, and I'm neither of those two_.

* * *

Night on the plain is still. There is only you and the occasional gentle sawing of the grass as the smallest breeze passes through, the sky is a vault overhead shining with pinprick lights. Everything is far away and quiet and so, so still.

Night among the trees is different. The air is thick and humid, and all about you there is a green smell so that even when you sleep you dream of crawling vines and lush growth. There are no stars, only a twisting, writhing canopy of green darkness where insects shrill at all hours of the night. Everything is close, and warm. He cannot get comfortable.

The tiger shifts slightly and grumbles, taking a moment to glare up at the snake who snores away completely content among the branches. He resented the fact that the snake, the whimpering, wheedling craven that he was, could be comfortable anywhere he slept. The tiger had never adjusted well to sleeping in the jungle. He hadn't been raised to live in the green darkness; behind every tree he saw an ambush. It didn't help that his sole companion had proven himself to be a back-stabbing opportunist time and time again. And this damn rock really cut into his shoulder!

Shere Khan shifts again, growling a little. If he had a choice, he would not be here. If he had a choice…

He sighs and pulls himself up to a sitting position. What choice did he have? He was a fugitive, a cripple, and he'd likely die from embarrassment should anyone find out he had turned to Kaa for assistance.

His shoulder ached. If asked, Kaa would rub it. The tiger shuddered. He hated the slick-scaly feeling of being touched by the serpent, hated even more the clumsy attempts at casual conversation. He would bear the snake's presence, but not his unique brand of "friendship"(the very _thought_ of which made his skin crawl.)

The snake snort-chuckled and stirred gently in his sleep. The tiger glared up at him.

How had he come to such desperate ends? To become reliant on an overgrown, gluttonous worm who had betrayed him without a second thought, crawling where he had once hunted, to lose everything, _everything_ in the space of a single day?

…_the sun beating down, heat waves on the ground making shivering mirrors of the horizon…_

That last day, the day of his hideous fall, the last day he had seen…

…_the shade lying in scattered pools, stopping to rest in one and panting with his mouth open…_

…her.

* * *

…the air too hot, too hot and scorching him on the inside. But he didn't dare go back into the jungle yet. With such pathetic failures for subordinates he needed advice. Without the proper guidance, he could end up a laughingstock.

He paced around the great, open space, whiskers out, looking, smelling, _feeling_ for her. If he could just find her, and ask…

She was to the south, he found, and he tried to keep from feeling too enthusiastic. How uncomely an emotion.

He sprinted, feeling light, at last on her trail. As he drew near, he found that her back was to him and he was able to slow himself before he got too close, to make a somewhat dignified approach. He crept up behind her. She seemed to be meditating or deep in thought, her few whiskers stirring gently in the breeze. It seemed to be blowing from upwind; perhaps if he was silent he could–

"Are you going to crunch about all day like that, or are you going to approach me the _right_ way you stealthy hunter of bulls?" acid dripped from her tone. He was immediately cowed.

"I apologize," he murmured, lowering his head. She opened her eyes, their tawny color slightly darker than his own, and gave him a withering glare.

"Don't be sorry, be _quiet_." She hissed. He plodded in front of her and sat upright, curling his tail tightly around himself. She resumed her pose once more.

The old tigress lay like a sphinx, silent, eyes peacefully shut. The gold in her fur had mellowed, grown patchy in odd places, but she was still the loveliest thing he'd ever seen. He tried not to fidget but inadvertently thumped the ground with his tail once or twice. She sighed wearily and opened one eye.

"You really are the most impertinent child," she said dryly, "really."

He bowed his head. "I'm–

"–_sorry_, I know." She sat up slowly, stretching out the stiffness. He remained perfectly upright and silent until her last paw was in place. She licked her chops once and gazed at him wearily.

"I suppose you're here for council, to tug at my wisdom like a wolf cub pulling at its weary mother's teats," she said.

"Now, wait–"

"It's _fine_," she said in a tone that clearly told him it was most certainly _not_ fine, "I suppose one instigates such things when they become as old as I."

"You're as lovely as I've always known you," he replied honestly.

She gave a short laugh at that. "What do you want to know?"

"I hunt in the jungle today."

"How delightfully banal," she yawned, "you hunt in the stinking greens, for the Bandar-log perhaps? Or have you given up on your mighty hunting grounds of pasture and fence? Do tell, child, do tell."

He bit his tongue, he must not retort. "I hunt man today. It…**he** is different. He does not run like other men. He has the tongue of the beasts, and they shield him from me."

She laughed at that, a rumbling purr she did nothing to stifle. "How the mighty have fallen. You turn your back for a few seasons, and already your subjects sneak behind it! No wonder he does not run, if the mighty Shere Khan, killer of cattle, gives him such free rein." She ended coldly, her false humor evaporated.

He curled into himself slightly. "That's unfair and untrue. The other beasts, they mock me openly, secure in their stupidity. Even that traitorous cousin, the panther, dares defy me."

She relented slightly. "The black one has never been our true cousin. He eats flesh, yes, but is cowed by the very sight of man. Cousin in name only, he is too easily subjugated to be of _our_ family, child."

Hope rose within him at her words. "The elephants trample the countryside at his behest. The gray idiots have made it known to all in the Seeonee their clumsy attempt to find the man-cub."

Her eyes, once at half-mast, sprang open and she glared at him; her disapproval was indeed withering.

"A man-cub," she pronounce each syllable with sneering contempt, "a new victory for the striped cattle-killer. 'Destroyer of cubs' shall be a _grand_ title to add to your already impressive list. When first I called you lungri, did you take it as free rein to hunt only the sick and the small–?"

"Amma, _please_!" he burst out, unable to remain silent any longer. He winced at her responding glare, but pressed on.

"This…cub has consistently made a mockery of me, he and the petty, spineless wolves that raised him! He must be made an example!" Though he meant to end it on a roar, it more resembled a sulk. His mother smiled at him, displaying yellowed rows of sharp teeth.

"Well, well," she cooed, "my big, brave son has decided to stand up to his shrew of a mother. You are better than my advice, aren't you my lame one?"

Despite himself, Shere Khan grew smaller inside. "Of– of course not, Amma…I only…I seek your wise council to– to– …I must _end_ this don't you understand? They've made me a laughingstock, and I must show them wrong,"

She got up and paced toward him, muscles rippling like silk despite her advancing age. Though he towered over her, Shere Khan still winced as she grew nearer, old scars on his tail throbbing white-hot. She stopped short of him and peered into his eyes, finding only naked fear and beaten hope. She sighed.

"My big brave son," she murmured, "the last to ever push himself out of my womb. I lost he who was my mate even before your birth, my monster child."

"Yes, Amma," he replied automatically.

"I have told you often how your father died, suckled you with tales of his greatness, and you cannot even slay a child. He was a man-killer in his own right, my lame one, not a slayer of dumb beasts and cubs. When I beheld you, freak that you are, I thought you would not live past the monsoons. You were a large, greedy cub who fixed me so I could not even bear another."

"Yes, Amma. I'm sorry, Amma."

"You squalled endlessly, never ceased crying of hunger. You were greedy then, and you are greedy now. Instead of settling for the lean deer, you hunt man's fat, slow cattle. Though you are a monster you posses no great strength, my lungri. Once I hoped you would succeed where your father had failed, I hoped as you lay beside me squalling and blind, but as I look at you now you are helpless as you were then."

Shere Khan was silent, studying the ground. She gazed at him, her only son, tall and proud and somehow sad. She remembered his brief childhood, the lessons, the discipline. Had she been too strict?

She sighed. It was far too late for conjecture.

"Son," she said. He looked up, eyes blank of emotion. "You are not meant for the jungle. The cub (the word writhed on her tongue) has eluded you so far by keeping to the green darkness. You must bring him here."

"To you?"

"To the flat lands. Here he cannot hide. He is without blood traitors or crashing fools. Here he will have to run from you, my child. Here you must strike."

"That is your counsel, Amma?" his gaze was empty of both hostility and warmth. She hesitated before replying.

"Yes, child," she said, "That is my counsel. If you do not succeed, do not bother coming back at all."

He stared at her, expression unreadable. He was so very much bigger than her, wasn't he?

"Thank you, Amma," he replied tersely. He slipped off through the grass silently, her lone figure in the grass becoming smaller and smaller and finally swallowed up in the vast brightness…

He drifted away; unaware that memory had merged with dream. He drifted into fire, to flames that surrounded him, burning him, like the fire so long ago that had been so bright and lovely until he leap upon it out of curiosity and then it burned(_oh mother it burned, the pain, I can't walk Amma!_)and now he was surrounded, flames licking the sky, and there she was(_you must get out, Amma, get away before you die)_ but she would not help him, she only sat and stared with calm contempt, the flames never touching her but scorching him, _searing_ him(_oh god­)_burning him _alive_–

* * *

"Hey. _Hey!_ Wake up!" there was a thick, heavy coil on his shoulder shaking him; it was pleasantly cool after the flames. He blinked away the nightmare, puzzling for a moment who and where he was before reality came crashing down and he looked up, glaring at his awakener.

Kaa peered down at him with idiotic concern. "Are you alright? I heard you, _well_…crying."

He glared up at the python. "How thoughtful. You hear me _sssss_obbing fitfully and wake me with a gentle touch, my friend?"

The snake coughed into a coil; sorry he had brought it up. "Well, I tried to let it go, but you were really…you couldn't even breathe. And then you kept ssaying ssomething…"

Shere Khan stared up at the snake, very still. "Oh, do go on. What was I saying?"

Kaa curled into himself, smiling apprehensively. "You…you kept ssaying _Amma, Amma_ over and over again."

_If you do not succeed, do not bother coming back at all…_

The tiger stared up, claws unsheathing with a microscopic click. "I cried for my mother in my sleep?" he deadpanned. The snake gulped and remembered at the last moment the coil he had left dangling. Before he could retract the coil Shere Khan's grip was around it, firm and unmoving, aggravating half-healed reminders of the tiger's short temper.

Kaa giggled nervously, eyeing the claws around his midsection with dread. "I… sssupose I could've been…misstaken." He finished lamely; completely limp in the tiger's grasp.

Shere Khan scrutinized him for a moment. "…mistaken?"

Kaa nodded clumsily, now regretting ever waking the tiger. "I m-musst've heard a noise… ss–somewhere else. Yess, I'm ssure now that's what it was."

"And you wake me from concern," Shere Khan replied, unsmiling, "how thoughtful. How does the missive go…no good deed goes unpunished?"

The snake stammered, feeling claw tips poised to enter his flesh, "o-o-of c-c-_courssse_. The great Sh-Shere Khan having a nightmare? _Bah!_" he croaked weakly. The tiger nodded smartly.

"Yes, old boy, you really do have to get that looked at. I can't afford my lackey going stark raving mad, now can I?"

"No, of _courssse_ not," Kaa murmured, resentment bubbling up in him. The grip eased open and his coil shot up to the canopy quicker than a thought. The tiger smiled benevolently up at Kaa.

"Dear, dear me, now I fear I shall never get back to sleep after your petty interruption," he said cheerfully, "I'll just take a quick look around, shall I? One never knows in this darkness, do they?"

"No," the snake agreed through clenched teeth, "one _doessn't_."

When he was certain the tiger was out of earshot he sighed and shifted a coil over his eyes. It was the sixth time Shere Khan had roused him from a deep slumber with one of his fits of depression, mewling pitifully. The tiger was defensive about his…problem, that was fine, but _every other night_ was too much for Kaa's nerves. Perhaps he wouldn't be having so many night terrors if he took the snake's offer for bed but no–"I am a tiger, and we do not sleep in trees like a serpent." Self-righteous dream-interrupting _bastard_. Kaa grumbled and shifted for comfort.

Toward dawn, the tiger lay down once again beneath the tree and slept fitfully. After a cautious interval, a winding green river flowed from the branches and came to rest gently on the tiger, squeezing in comfort. The night was still and close.

* * *

_Author's note: no, do you mean it's already over? Darn, I liked this trilogy. I've always wondered where Shere Khan went after his visit with Kaa, and this is the closest thing to an answer I could come up with. I always saw him as having something of an inferiority complex, so I speculated on where it might've originated. Forgive the unusually formal speech, but I have a feeling that's how he'd talk to a strict, overbearing mother ("amma" means "mother" in a few Indian languages) who treats him as a nuisance. It's also a throwback to the book, like the name "lungri"; Shere Khan gained it when he leapt on a campfire and ended up with a limp, and a taste for weaker prey. Perhaps I will write a chapter story here some day, when I get everything else I'm putting off out of the way. See you again, my little Bandar-log. _


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